


A Day in the Life

by St_Salieri



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Angst, Gen, Terminal Illnesses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-07-29
Updated: 2005-07-29
Packaged: 2017-11-25 09:32:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/637486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/St_Salieri/pseuds/St_Salieri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three interludes in the life of Spike, ranging over a period of 145 years.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Act I**  
  
 _July 29, 1881_  
Aberdeen  
Sunrise

The narrow alley was filthy in the dim, pre-morning light, and the smell of coal dust was thick in the air. The nearby gas works loomed over the surrounding buildings, casting deep shadows for them to hide in. Spike could hear the distant rumblings as the town began to wake itself up -- noticeable, yes, but not yet loud enough to drown out the nearby sounds of the ocean.

The four of them had been on the run for the past few weeks, and Spike was beginning to hate the sight of this place. A slight case of drunken over-exuberance had led to the decimation of a small parish outside Edinburgh, and the resulting outcry had made the countryside too dangerous a place in which to linger. They had escaped northward, following the railway to Aberdeen. Angelus was taking the devil's own time trying to choose a suitable lodging for them, and in the meantime they were hunkering down in an abandoned tenement, living off of stray fishermen and mill workers. It was a wretched existence, but Spike was able to take consolation in two facts. For one thing, it wasn't his fault this time. Angelus had never been able to resist a good charismatic revival.

For another thing, Darla had been doing her best to make Angelus absolutely miserable as punishment. Spike didn't even attempt to keep his gloating to himself.

The pickings had been slim tonight, and Angelus was in a black mood. Darla had insisted on hunting near the residential areas with Drusilla, and in a fit of pique, Angelus had dragged Spike with him down to Victoria Dock and the industrial area. It had been a bad choice. The unseasonably cool weather was keeping most of the laborers inside, and the most Spike had been able to manage was a young errand boy. He hadn't had more than a taste of blood before Angelus had grabbed the boy away, finishing the kill himself. He'd given Spike a cold look as he was feeding, as if daring him to make an issue of it. Just to be contrary, Spike had curbed his impulse to wipe the smirk off the old bastard's face. He had known that Angelus was spoiling for a fight, and Spike didn't want to give him the satisfaction. As it was, he was now famished.

When the docks hadn't yielded anything further in the way of a meal, the two of them had made their way northeastward. Avoiding the infantry barracks, they'd skulked around the nearly deserted granite and iron works with no further luck. At this point, the night was nearly over.

"Bugger this," Spike finally announced, not even bothering to whisper anymore. He hooked his thumb over his shoulder, ignoring Angelus's scowl. "The day's coming, and I can't take much more of this. I'm heading north toward the poorhouse. There's got be something edible over there. It'll be better than this sorry excuse for a hunt, at any rate."

"Watch your mouth, William," Angelus threatened. His eyes were fixed on a night watchman visible in the near distance. The man was pacing outside the gates of the iron foundry, slowly making his way eastward toward the bay. Spike heard Angelus give a low, almost subsonic growl as the guard turned a corner and disappeared.

"Stay here," Angelus ordered.

Spike snorted. "Not bloody likely. You've already eaten. That one's mine."

Angel lunged toward him with a growl, but Spike dodged sideways and ducked out of the alley. He could hear Angelus cursing behind him, but he ignored the other vampire and jogged lightly in the direction in which the guard had vanished. He slowed down as he rounded the corner, taking a deep breath to scent the air.

They were near enough to the bay that the salty, fertile smell of the North Sea was almost strong enough to cover up all other odors. Almost, but not quite. Spike could detect the faint scents of nearby humans, and an even stronger odor of freshly spilled blood somewhere close. As Angelus came thundering up behind him, Spike chose his direction and headed east.

"What are you...the guard went _that_ way, you idiot!" Angelus hissed.

"Then go get him," Spike tossed back over his shoulder. "My blessings on both of you."

He tilted his head back and forth as he ran, trying to follow the odor of fresh blood. As the smell grew stronger, his stomach growled and his fangs emerged. The packed earth of the path beneath his feet began to give way to a slurry of wet dirt and sand. The last row of buildings before the beach proper was just ahead of him. Spike almost stumbled over the body that appeared suddenly on the path.

The young woman couldn't have been dead for more than half an hour. She lay face down in the weeds, blood trickling from a knife wound across her throat. She'd been interfered with, if her smell was anything to go by -- not that Spike cared at this point. He was hungry enough that even the cooling blood from a corpse was preferable to waiting until the next nightfall to hunt again. He yanked the girl's body up and dug his fangs into her neck with a satisfied grunt.

"What in the hell are you doing?" Angelus seemed to have abandoned the chase for the guard, and he was staring at Spike with a horrified look on his face.

"What?" Spike mumbled in between mouthfuls. "I'm hungry." There wasn't nearly enough blood left in the girl's body to satisfy him, but it was enough to take the edge off. Taking one last swallow, he dropped the body in a heap and ran his hand over his mouth, licking up the excess drops from his fingers. Angelus was still staring at him in disgust.

"What?" Spike asked again, rather peevishly.

"We don't do that," Angelus growled. "We're vampires, not vultures. You want to be a scavenger? Go live in the sewer with the rest of the animals."

"Oh, and here he goes again," Spike said, raising his arms to the heavens. "Time for another lesson, is that it? Well, I don't want to hear it. Truth of the matter is, it's _your_ fault we're stuck here. Maybe I'd be better off hunting on my own." With a swagger in his step, Spike turned and brushed past Angelus, deliberately bumping his shoulder.

Angelus snapped. He leaped at Spike with a roar, taking him down. They both went sprawling into the weeds near the edge of the beach, next to an abandoned shack. Angelus took hold of Spike's hair with one large hand and made a strike for his throat. Spike twisted like an eel, bringing his forehead down to strike Angelus' nose. He heard the satisfying crunch of bone, and the other vampire howled and wrenched Spike's hand back, breaking two of his fingers. Grinning like a fiend through the pain, Spike pulled away to catch his balance and then leaped for Angelus again.

As they rolled in the mud, clawing and biting at each other, Spike missed the warning tingles on the back of his neck. It was only when Angelus pulled back with a hiss that he stopped and took a closer look at his surroundings.

The air above the bay was a clear, bright pink that lightened the sky to a pale blue. As Spike watched, the first rays of the sun appeared above the eastern horizon, setting the sky aflame. Shielding his eyes, Spike followed Angelus' retreating form and ducked back behind the abandoned shack. Angelus gave him a vicious kick and then subsided, poking at his nose with an aggrieved air. Spike edged his head around the corner of the building, careful to stay in shadow, and froze in surprise.

From his vantage point, he could see the light of the rising sun reflected on the water of the bay. Although the sun itself was safely hidden from view, the glints of reflected light caught his eye and dazzled it. Spike could hear the cry of the gulls, as well as the shouts of the men coming to work at the docks. A long-buried memory suddenly arose -- a trip to Bournemouth when he was young, back when his father was still alive. The smell of salt pouring in from the cold North Sea seemed stronger and wilder than it had been back when he was a boy. He felt as if he was sitting at the very edge of the world.

Spike watched in fascination as the reflection of the sun moved across the water. He had never thought that he would ever miss seeing it, and yet he found that he couldn't look away.

"William. William! _Spike!_ "

A hand on his ankle dragged him back behind the shack, and then Angelus was slapping at his hair where it had caught fire. Spike hadn't even noticed that he'd moved out far enough for the light to catch him. He rubbed furiously at his head to make sure that the flames were gone, wincing when Angelus cuffed his ear.

"It would have served you right if I left you to go up in flames," Angelus growled, wrinkling his nose at the smell of burned hair. "Come on now. The girls are waiting for us, and we can make it if we hurry."

Following Angelus's pointing finger, Spike saw that there was indeed an area of shadow that led into an alley between the nearest rows of buildings. If they made a run for it, they'd be able to make it into the safety of the darkness. Angelus straightened himself for the dash.

"Well, come on then!" he said to Spike, then bolted across the open space towards the shadows. Once he reached the other side safely, he turned and gestured furiously for Spike to follow him.

Spike could feel the weight of the rising sun on the other side of the flimsy shack. He'd still be able to catch a glimpse of its reflection if he looked, and he had a sudden wild desire to stay and brave the light. Catching sight of Angelus waiting for him at the mouth of the alley, Spike sighed. He closed his eyes, put the sun behind him, and ran for the darkness.


	2. Chapter 2

 

**Act II**

_July 29, 2001_  
Sunnydale  
Noon

 

The heat was already oppressive, and it wasn't yet the warmest part of the day. It was the perfect weather for vampires -- hot enough outside that their body temperatures were high enough to pass for human. The current heat wave in Sunnydale meant that any industrious vampire who cared to put in the effort would be able to have a bit of fun with his evening meal. Some of them made a game out of passing for human, claiming that the shock when they finally revealed their true form to their victims made the blood that much sweeter. Of course, there were plenty of others who couldn't be bothered to work that hard; as far as they were concerned, the heat was merely a bonus that made their prey extra sluggish. Among the vampire population, it was a day of anticipation.

For Spike, it was a day to count the cobwebs on the ceiling.

He'd forgotten where he'd tossed his pillow, and the sarcophagus in the upper level of his crypt was just hard enough to be distracting. He supposed he could get up to go look for it, but he simply didn't care enough to put in the effort. Instead, he concentrated on the hum of the wasps outside his window, and the distant sound of the groundskeeper's lawnmower.

If he listened hard enough, he didn't have to think about anything.

He had lost track of how many days it had been since...because he had no idea of what day today was. It was easier not to bother finding out. Each day was just like the one before it, anyway -- sleep in the morning, watch Dawn in the afternoon, patrol with the Scoobies in the late evening, then roam the graveyard restlessly until the sun came up. Rinse and repeat as necessary. It was soothing, in a way. He could handle the gnawing emptiness inside as long as he had something to do. The absolute worst moments were the morning hours when he was supposed to be sleeping. It was then that he'd suddenly flash on Buffy's peaceful face and broken body lying on a pile of rubble at the bottom of the tower. The more he tried not the think about, the less he was able to control his memories.

Spike rolled over and buried his hands in his face with a groan. It was no use. Better to sit in front of the telly -- if he was lucky, he'd manage to doze off eventually with the noise to distract him. It worked approximately half of the time, at any rate.

Spike had just thrown himself into his chair when he heard the grinding sound of his crypt door being pushed open. Lovely. He couldn't believe that he hadn't noticed that someone was standing outside. The way he was going, he'd be food for the first two-bit demon that decided to liberate his crypt. Spike straightened his shoulders until he caught the scent of his visitor. Human. He slouched back, leaning his head against the chair.

"Dawn," he said dully. "What do you want?" He could hear the girl shuffling uncertainly behind him for a moment, and then she came over and dropped to the floor in front of the television with a sigh.

"Nothing," she said, staring at the talk show he'd been pretending to watch.

"Well, you've come to the right place for that," Spike said. He stared sightlessly at the television, slowly becoming aware that Dawn had turned to scowl at him. "What?" he asked sharply.

"Nothing, okay?" she said, her voice rising in pitch. Jesus. The Initiative should have learned to bottle the voice of Snitty Teenage Girl. In its concentrated form, it could overpower most monsters. "You know, it's the polite thing to offer your guest a chair," she continued pointedly.

Spike sighed heavily. "But you're not my guest, are you? You're my intruder. And I don't remember you knocking." Just to be difficult, he wiggled around in his seat and made getting-comfortable noises. Dawn turned her back on him with a disgusted snort, but she didn't get up and storm out as he was half expecting her to. They spent several more minutes not-watching the telly together before a random thought penetrated Spike's fuzzy brain.

"Hey...it's the middle of the day. Don't you have school or something?"

Dawn turned on him with an incredulous look. "It's the end of July!"

Well, that answered that question. What with time passing so slowly these days, he'd convinced himself that it was already well into August. But that still didn't explain the school thing, and Dawn rolled her eyes at his blank look.

"It's summer," she explained. "No school, except for the losers. I've been out for over a month now." The shrill tone in her voice was starting to come back, and Spike winced. Now that he thought about it, he did remember something about summer vacation. It had clearly gotten lost among the rest of the detritus in his brain. Not surprising, considering that it felt like a year had passed since....

He blinked apologetically. "Vacation, right," he said. "Although I'd think that the Magic Box would be more fun at this time of day than my crypt." It was a deliberate hint, but Dawn just shook her head stubbornly.

"It's way too hot now," she said. "You've got this whole dark and dank thing going on, which is the next best thing to air conditioning. And...I brought lunch!" Reaching behind her, Dawn dragged her bag forward and pulled out a package of crisps, tossing it to him. Spike was about to protest, but she looked so hopeful that he didn't have the heart. He was too weary to argue with her anyway. In a conciliatory gesture, he vacated the chair and waved her towards it. After snagging himself a blood bag from his fridge, he took a seat on top of the sarcophagus.

Dawn settled in happily and munched on a sandwich she had brought, watching the news that had just come on and groaning at the report that the heat wave was expected to continue for another few days. She gave an eep! of disgust when a spider ran across her shoe.

"Okay, that is so gross. You may be dead, but it wouldn't kill you to clean up once in a while."

Spike idly thought that Dawn's voice sounded muffled and far away, as if she was speaking from another room. And he didn't think she was, because there was simply no other room to go to. But he was too tired to look up and check where she was, so he continued to stare at the bag of blood in his hands. He didn't remember drinking it, but there it was, empty and dripping thick red drops onto the floor of his crypt. The bag was gently pulled away from him, and he looked up to find Dawn standing in front of him with a worried expression.

"Are you okay?" she asked. "You kind of...went away for a minute."

Spike pulled away and scrubbed at his face. "Yeah," he said hoarsely. "A little low on sleep. Pay me no mind."

Dawn swallowed and glanced up at the small window set high in the wall. "Did you ever think about getting some real curtains for those things?" she asked.

Spike blinked. "What?" he croaked, unable to follow her around whatever bend she was taking.

"For the sun," she clarified. "It gets in here during the day." She took a few steps forward and held out her hand, letting the bright beam of sunlight fall on it. "See?"

"Not worth it," Spike shrugged. "I know where the sun is. Can just move to the other side of the crypt for a while." Sliding off the sarcophagus, he came to stand next to Dawn, the toes of his boots a few centimeters from where the sunlight hit the floor.

"Yeah, but what about when you sleep?" Dawn challenged.

"I sleep downstairs," he lied. It wasn't quite true at the moment, but he didn't feel like explaining to her that the effort of actually getting into a bed to sleep was an exercise in futility these days.

Spike lifted his hand and let it hover just out of reach of the deadly sunlight. He could feel Dawn holding her breath next to him, and with an almost casual gesture he dragged his hand through the light. It wasn't illuminated long enough to burst into flame, but he watched in fascination as a wisp of soft smoke was emitted. Dawn gasped.

"Doesn't that hurt?" she asked. Spike thought about it, then shook his head.

"It should," was all he said. He reached forward once again and let his fingers play gently through the beam of light, pulling back before he did any serious damage. "It used to hurt," he whispered. Dawn blinked at him.

"It's like a candle," she said. Walking over to the window, she stood on her toes to reach one of the fat pillar candles that Spike kept scattered about the crypt. Reaching into her back pocket, she retrieved a lighter, giving Spike a defiant glance as if daring him to say anything about it. When he didn't protest, she lit the candle. Holding it in her left hand, she brushed the fingers of her other hand back and forth across the top of the flame.

"Buffy used to do this," she said. "It always freaked me out. She told me that she didn't catch fire because she was the Slayer, and I believed her. I was too scared to try it until mom told her to stop teasing me." She ran her fingers through the small orange flame again, caressing it almost lovingly. "If you do it quickly, it doesn't hurt," she said in a soft voice. She looked up at him, her eyes big in her pale face. "Aren't you going to try to stop me?" she asked. "Willow and Tara don't like it when I do it. I think they think I'm planning on becoming a pyro or something."

"Do you stop when they say it?" he asked quietly. She shook her head. "Then what's the point?" She shrugged, staring at the candle, and after another moment he took it from her and pinched the wick out. "Your sister," he said, then swallowed past the lump in his throat. "She wouldn't like...if you hurt yourself...."

Dawn nodded. "I know. And I know that she wouldn't like it either if you..." trailing off, she gestured at the beam of sunlight. Spike gave her a crooked smile and nodded in return, watching as she walked across the crypt and retrieved her bag. "I guess I'd better go," she said softly. "I'll see you tonight?"

Spike nodded again, turning back to the window and listening to the heavy door slam shut behind her as she exited the crypt. He glanced down. The sunbeam had inched forward, and the edge of it was just brushing the tip of his boot. Spike reached out his hands, letting them hover once more over the ray of light, watching the dust motes suspended in it. Cupping his hands, careful to keep his fingers clear this time, he curved his hands around the sunbeam. He could feel the warmth penetrating his skin, deadly and fierce. He wanted to bathe in that power, take it into himself and swim in it. All it would take was the tiniest step forward....

Spike shook his head to clear it, stepping back and dropping his hands. He moved to the other side of the crypt, switching the television off and settling back into the chair. He watched the beam of light move safely from a distance until he managed to fall asleep.


	3. Chapter 3

**Act III**  
  
 _July 29, 2026_  
Los Angeles  
Sunset

 

The funds to purchase the condo had been provided by a grateful Council, in honor of the longest living Slayer in human history. It was only fitting, after her long years of service, that they should support her now at the end.

No expense had been spared in equipping the apartment with every luxury she could ask for. The large window overlooking the beach had been fitted with necrotempered glass, and Spike had insisted that the hospital bed be placed in the living room so that Buffy could have a view of the ocean.

Over the years, she had joked that she'd never be able to get rid of him, that he was like a cancer.

Suddenly their old joke wasn't so funny anymore.

It wasn't supposed to happen this way. It wasn't supposed to happen to _any_ woman, not with current medical advances, but it seemed that the universe had played a cruel joke on them. Buffy's rapid metabolism had turned against her; the physical mechanism that was designed to protect her meant that the cancer had metastasized and spread at an unbelievable rate. It was a consequence the Council had never recorded, not when the typical Slayer was dead by age nineteen. Buffy had changed the world, and in so doing had raised new questions about the very nature of the Slayer.

She had been home from the hospital for a week now. The doctors had very kindly expressed their regrets and provided references for hospice care. Dawn, as her legal next of kin, had turned them down on Buffy's orders. After her initial anger, Buffy had quickly accepted her fate, even joking about it in her typically pragmatic fashion.

"I've already died twice," she told Spike dryly. "You think it'll take this time?"

"Well, that's four apiece between the two of us," he answered. "You'd think we'd get time off for good behavior."

Spike had always known that this day would eventually come, but he had always imagined that it would be a quick death in battle. When Buffy had been diagnosed, he'd railed against the Powers That Be for allowing their Chosen One such an ignominious end. He was beginning to realize that he had always lived the death of Buffy in some fashion -- either fantasizing about killing her or mourning her early passing. He had never fully accepted that she might succumb to the same afflictions as any other human.

They were lying spooned together in the hospital bed, the dark golden rays of the setting sun illuminating the room through the western window. Spike curled his fingers around Buffy's thin hand, holding her tightly. She sighed in satisfaction, settling herself next to him. He had to swallow around a lump in his throat when she looked up at him. Even with the wrinkles that her maturing face had gained over the years, even with the papery skin and sunken cheeks that her current illness had given her, even with the smell of antiseptics and painkillers, she was still the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

"Hey there," she said softly.

She didn't talk much anymore, and even when she was looking at him there was a certain distance in her eyes. He knew that her mind and body were preparing themselves for the inevitable. And although it went against everything in his nature, he was allowing her to go, even as his blood screamed for him to force her to fight.

They had already said their goodbyes.

"Buffy," he replied, stroking her face gently. "Do you need anything?" She shook her head, cuddling up next to him with a small smile.

"It's pretty," she said, nodding towards the sunset. Her eyelids drooped and she blinked them back open. She had been spending more time asleep than awake over the last few days, and Spike was taking every opportunity to be with her whenever she was alert.

"That it is," he agreed, never taking his eyes off her face. "Beautiful." He could tell that she knew he wasn't talking about the sunset, and she rolled her eyes at him with a rueful smile. He gave her his best grin in return, dropping a kiss on her forehead.

"Better than any sunlight, you are," he said softly. Her eyes welled up with tears, and he kissed them closed.

"Tired," she whispered.

"It's okay," he said. "I'll be here."

Holding her more firmly against him, he pulled her head to his still chest and wrapped his arms around her. He could hear the flutter of her heartbeat slow and her breathing even as her body relaxed. The light of the setting sun gave her skin a false glow that cruelly mimicked the blush of health.

Spike gently smoothed her hair away from her face. Holding her warm body against his, he watched the last rays of the sun sink below the horizon.

 

 


End file.
